Screaming These Lies
by PlagueOfPrague
Summary: Years after the happenings of the movie: No one involved speaks ghosts, and they're quick to forget the happenings of a few years prior. Lydia is content to forget as well, until she has need for some otherworldly help. Rated T now, M later.
1. Home, sweet home

**Screaming These Lies**

_A/N; I haven't written fic in __**years**__, so you're going to have to forgive any lack of pallor on my part. This chapter is lacking a bit, I'm sure, but it's just something to get me back into the swing of things. It will get more interesting in upcoming chapters, I __**promise. **__As is always the case, reviews are always welcomed and appreciated; and sadly, I do not own any of the characters in the following. If I did, well, I wouldn't be sharing._

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"I'll be right back down, dad. I forgot the other camera…" Lydia said quickly, giving her bag one last shove into the dark recesses of her car before slamming the trunk shut.

"Did you get those prints out of the living room? Oh, and that sweater your aunt sent over. It was in the dining room last, wasn't it?" Her dad quipped, carelessly tossing his daughter's laptop onto the backseat.

Lydia grimaced as she watched the computer bounce off the cushion and land haphazardly on the seat opposite. "Yeah, dad. Got all that last night…" She mumbled, turning and heading back towards the house. Truth be told, all her belongs, aside from the essentials; namely her camera and laptop, had been packed days ago. As much as she loved her father, she couldn't have been more ready to leave the old Connecticut house and head back for the city. Heading through the front door, she managed a small glance at Delia.

"Heading out so soon?" She asked sweetly, watching her stepdaughter's retreating form as she headed back up the stairs.

"Yeah, early bird catches the worm." Lydia replied in the same sweet tone, her voice oozing sarcasm. Both women knew the truth of it; Lydia was dying to get out, and Delia couldn't be happier to see her leave. Both managed to put on a false front for Charles' sake, but when it came down to it, they really couldn't stand each other's company for more than a few days. A few hours, even. If their relationship had been rocky when she was a teen, now it was a total cataclysmic nightmare. It annoyed Lydia that Delia still pried into her life at every opportune moment, and it annoyed Delia that Lydia no longer had to give in to her every whim, seeing as she was no longer a little girl. Simply put; they were both happier when not in each other's company.

Trailing her fingers along the railing, Lydia made her way back up to her bedroom. Her camera was right where she had left it, cushioned nicely in the center of her bed. She swooped it up in one hand, and stood for a moment, staring out the window. That was one thing she would miss about this place; it really was beautiful. She'd been here for nearly five weeks now, and even though she'd been convinced that she had exhausted all the photography opportunities as she had grown, she had still managed to go through eight rolls of film in and around the old house. Sighing, she turned and made her way for the door; she'd arrived just in time for Thanksgiving, and now that Christmas had past, it was time to head home.

She made her way down the main hallway a little slower than necessary, nearly coming to a halt as she walked by the attic door. The Maitlands had left a few days prior, with the simple explanation that they had things to 'attend to' on the other side. Lydia didn't ask questions, and they didn't offer any further information. As it was, their relationship was nothing as it had been when she was a girl. In all honestly, it hadn't taken long for the novelty of living with two ghosts to wear off as she was growing up. To her, it was more like having a second set of parents nosing around; only they could walk through walls and such. This made their nosing a bit easier, and her life a bit harder.

In that regard, her father must have been glad that she was going. As far as she could tell, the Maitlands rarely made their presence known when she wasn't around, choosing instead to leave the Deetz family to their own devices in the lower levels of the house, while they confined themselves to the attic. Very rarely did the two couples ever intersect each other, and when they did, Charles would simply have the decency to startle at their sudden presence, and then mumble some small talk until they went on their way. He seemed to think of them as the occasional tenants who took up residence in his attic, and over the past few years, no one had ever heard him speak of ghosts, or poltergeists, or the 'incident' that had occurred years prior. No. To him, and everyone else, it was much easier this way.

Lydia's eyes fell to the railing her hand was resting upon; the same railing that had miraculously come slithering to life under the very same touch years ago. "Damned snake…" she mumbled, removing her hand and looking back to the attic door. She hadn't been up there in a number of years, choosing instead to allow the Maitlands to come down of their own accord. Not like she had to go looking for them, anyways. They were always there to greet her at the door with her parents when she showed up for the holidays. _One big, happy family._ She thought, reaching for the doorknob.

The cool metal turned easily in her grasp, and for a moment, she was surprised that it had. A few seconds after that, she was surprised that she had found herself so surprised. Why had she been expecting it to be locked? It's not like there was anything to hide anymore.

"Hello?" She called fluidly, her voice floating up the staircase and into the grayness of the upper level. She hadn't expected the Maitlands to be there; for they had told her they would not be back by the time she left. Still, for some reason she felt she needed an excuse to go up there, and the pretense of saying goodbye to the ghostly couple seemed good enough to her.

"Adam, Barbara?" She said calmly, ascending the staircase quietly. Why the charade, anyways? She knew they weren't there, and no one would care that she was in the musty old attic, anyways. She shuddered as she reached the top, pulling the zipper on her hoodie up. The temperature in the attic was easily fifteen degrees colder than that of the lower levels. She half expected to see her breath as she looked around the dingy space. _No sense in heating up here,_ she thought. _Ghosts wouldn't really mind the cold, would they?_

Her boots sounded a bit too loud as she made her way across the musty floors. Small puddles were left in her wake as the snow melted away from her feet. She found herself drawn to the opposite side of the attic, where the impeccable replica of the town sat serenely under a snowy window. That too, looked the same, aside from some small changes Adam had made over the years to keep up with the small town's growth. She wondered how he knew about the changes, and how he got the pieces and parts he needed to continue working on it now that she was no longer around to help.

She traced a cold finger along to top of one of the small tombstones that dotted the model's graveyard. She pulled it away just as quickly, shuddering as she remembered the exchange that had occurred between herself and _him._ Her eyes narrowed. Had he ever come back? What had happened to him, for that matter? She had found herself with similar questions running through her head in the wake of 'the incident', and had even questioned Adam and Barbara heavily on the matter. Where was he? Was he even still alive, in a sense? They had assured her that it had been taken care of, and that he wasn't going to be able to hurt her anymore. Juno had taken care of it. Nothing more, nothing less. She on the other hand, wanted more. She hadn't been afraid of being hurt, she simply wanted to _know._ She was utterly fascinated by what had happened, and only when she got the feeling that they were beginning to think her a bit _too_ interested in the whole thing had she stopped with the questions. Eventually, even brief mentionings of the incident were ceded, and before she knew it, everyone had begun to act as if the whole thing had never happened.

"Betelgeuse?" she questioned into the nothingness, before she even had time to stop herself. Her hand quickly shot up and slapped over her mouth. _Oh fuck,_ she thought, frozen, her eyes wide. She stood there for a moment, every nerve in her body tensed. She more than half expected the poltergeist to make some type of appearance at the mention of his name, even if she had only said it once. She was almost certain the temperature of the room had dropped, but as she stood there, shocked with herself, the feelings subsided. She was just being stupid. Minutes passed, and nothing happened. She shook her head. _This is ridiculous, _she thought, annoyed with herself. The Maitlands _had_ told her he was gone, hadn't they? What had she been expecting?

"Absolutely nothing…" She mumbled to herself, annoyed, as she turned to head back to the stairs. It was this lack of expectation that caused her to shriek as she turned, finding herself face to face with grinning Betelgeuse. Both hands covered her mouth and she tripped backwards, nearly falling over an old side table. It took a few seconds for her to realize that she wasn't staring into the wild, emerald eyes of the spectre, but instead into the dull, lifeless eyes of a large chunk of marble…

Delia's stupid statue.

"Lydia, everything alright?" Her father's voice floated up the stairs.

The girl rolled her eyes. Utterly ridiculous. The pushed past the shelf that the statue was

situated on, stirring up some of the dust that had collected there. Obviously the family had chose to slowly dispose of all evidence of the happenings a few years prior, but even Delia didn't have it in her to completely rid herself of her own 'artwork'. Instead it had been banished to the attic, along with the two ghosts.

"Coming!" She replied quickly, rolling her eyes as she grabbed her discarded camera from the couch and took the stairs down two at a time.

All this childish nonsense.

She couldn't wait to be back in the city.


	2. Fear

Chapter 2

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Lydia grumbled to herself as she threw the last of her bags heavily onto her bed. She made a mental note to start visiting her father during the summer months. The drive from Connecticut to New York was Hell, especially during a snowstorm.

She let herself fall backwards onto the heavy purple comforter, landing with a disgruntled sigh next to her packed belongings. _Good to be home, _she thought sarcastically. She turned her head lazily to the side, looking at the digital clock glowing brightly on the stand next to her bed. 3:46 am.

"Well past my bedtime…" she mumbled absently, climbing groggily to her feet. Unpacking could wait until morning. She tugged roughly at the comforter, pulling it out from under her things. One of her duffle bags fell to the floor with a dull thud. She rolled her eyes. "Wonderful…"

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Lydia woke to the muffled sounds of yelling. She squinted at the bright sunlight creeping through the slotted blinds of her small living room. What time was it? She grumbled sleepily as she dislodged herself from the couch cushions, running a hand through her chaotic black hair.

"Shutup!" She yelled angrily, reaching over and pounding her fist on the wall a few times. She hated her neighbors. They had moved in about a year ago, and she swore that the couple had managed to drive her legally insane within the first two weeks. The fighting was constant, and it wasn't uncommon for her to wake to the sound of shattering glass or some large object being pummeled against the wall.

"Christ…" she mumbled, stretching as she stood up from her makeshift bed. The comforter fell like a dead weight to the floor. Stifling a yawn, she turned and made her way groggily to the small kitchenette. Coffee, and then a shower. Sounded like a plan to her. _Then_ she'd tackle the unpacking.

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Lydia flipped lazily through the stack of photographs she had taken at her father's house. She had made the haphazard journey through the snowy streets of New York to her friend Ty's studio, where he had always insisted she was welcome to use his dark room. Hell, she even had her own key to the place.

So now she found herself sitting in the semi-darkness of her friends studio, sipping coffee from a Starbucks cup and flipping lazily through the photographs. She had no idea where Ty was; probably out with friends. It _was_ a Friday night, and everyone who wasn't Lydia Deetz had something better to do than sit alone in a studio with pictures of an old house and the Connecticut countryside.

None of the pictures were particularly striking, and she suddenly found herself wishing that she _had_ spent more time in the attic. She had never really photographed there as she was growing up, and she began to think that the small town model would make an interesting subject…

She sighed, flopping the last of the pictures down on the table. Yep, this was the life of Lydia Deetz. She halfheartedly wished that she was working again; pouring drinks for incandescent drunks and foolhardy playboys, bouncing around from bar to bar with their silly, ditzy bints. She groaned. She'd have to give Larry a call in the morning. He had said she could come back anytime, and she figured now was just as good a time as any.

Pulling her jacket from the chair, she pulled her arms through the sleeves and began to shove the photographs into a sloppy pile. She'd leave them here, and if Ty had a use for any of them, more power to him. She didn't care.

She had nearly managed to get a semi-organized stack when one of the pictures fluttered lazily to the floor. She picked it up automatically, barely giving it a glance. But something, _something_, caught her attention. The glossy print had all but slipped from her fingers and into the stack when she saw it. Pulling the picture up closer to her face, she squinted at it, sure her eyes must be paying tricks on her.

She had taken the picture indolently as she had walked from room to room in her father's house, snapping arbitrarily at anything and everything. This particular picture was taken in one of the spare bedrooms. There was a large, decorative mahogany wardrobe in the center of the picture, forgotten boxes stacked chaotically around it. To the right, just in front of the large, neglected piece of furniture, was an old mirror. _An antique really. Full length, swively thing. _Shecould almost picture Alice stepping through it to get to Wonderland.

For a brief moment she chastised herself, for she had taken the photo at such an angle that she could see her own reflection in the mirror, camera aiming back at her. But that wasn't what had caught her attention. No. For a brief second she _swore_ she saw a hint of emerald behind her, the vivid glow of a pair of otherworldly eyes… staring back… _watching._

_You're fucking crazy._ She snapped at herself, throwing the picture back down. There was nothing there; only her own reflection in that stupid mirror. No ghosts. No demons. No monsters. No _**poltergeists.**_

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Pulling the hood of her coat more tightly around her face, Lydia made her way purposefully through the sludgy New York streets. The snow was falling in heavy torrents, and the heavy layers of gray and black slush on the sidewalk were causing her to slip. Her feet were soaked, and her toes were dumb. Damned winter.

She quickened her pace, wanting to be out of the harsh weather as soon as possible, as well as wanting to distance herself from current area she was strolling through as fast as she could. Ty may have been doing her a favor in letting her use his studio at whim, but it sure as hell wasn't in the best area. She shuddered, thinking of all the news reports she had heard about the happenings in this particular neighborhood. A little girl had been killed recently. Shot by some 'friends' of her brother's as she and him had walked down the street. They had been aiming for him, but the bullets had found her instead.

She had been in the studio at the time, and had heard the shots as they went off.

In a meager attempt to avoid the wind, she deftly cut between two buildings, making her way quickly through the dark alley separating them. The alley was much less traversed, and the ground was a solid sheet of ice. She had almost completed her slapdash journey through the dark pathway when she lost her footing. She managed a small shriek before landing heavily on her butt, her tailbone protesting painfully to the solid ice and concrete.

"Dammit…" She grumbled, pulling herself to her feet. She had dropped her bag, and her camera had fallen recklessly to the ground, small film canisters and old photographs fluttering down on the damp ground with it.

"Shit!" She snapped, quickly pulling the camera of the wet ground. She cradled it to her chest, like a she would a small wounded animal.

"You alright, Miss?"

Lydia started, jumping slightly and almost losing her footing again at the sound of the voice. "What? Oh, yeah…. 'm fine…" She mumbled, looking at the disheveled man out of the corner of her eye as she gathered her things. She stuffed them unceremoniously back into her bag, and slowly resumed her walk towards the end of the alley.

"You sure you're okay?" The man beckoned, leering at her. He stood at the end of the alleyway, obviously having walked by as she had fallen.

"Yeah. Thanks." Lydia managed, closing the distance between them at a quickened pace. She just wanted to go home.

He was walking towards her now, and she felt her stomach twist. "That's a nice little camera you've got there..." he said snidely, grinning. She was close enough now that she could smell the liquor permeating from his breath as he spoke. "Digital?" He asked, his voice gravely.

"No." She muttered, pushing past him. A few more feet and she'd be back out in the open.

"Hey, wait.." The man snapped, grabbing the strap of her bag and jerking her backwards. "Where the fuck you going?"

"Home." She said sharply, glaring at him. "I'm going home." She was not in the mood to deal with a drunken asshole. She'd get enough of that when she went back to work. She jerked the strap of her bag roughly from his grasp.

She was not entirely sure of what happened next, but she suddenly found herself with her back pressed hard against the cold brick of the building, the man's bodily pushed heavily against her own. The right side of her face was throbbing, and she could feel the warm, stickiness of blood trailing from her nose. Her bag was gone, and she was painfully aware that he had both of her hands held tightly in one of his own, her small wrists feeling as if they were being crushed under the pressure of his grip. They scraped roughly against the brick as he held them above her head.

"Take it." She managed, her eyes watering. "Take the fucking camera. There's twenty bucks in the side pocket. It's yours." She could taste the blood on her lips, on her tongue.

_Old pennies_, she thought.

"That's not all I want…" He said gruffly, sneering. Her eyes went wide and she was about to scream when his other hand clamped tightly over her mouth. "None of that, now…" He slurred, pressing himself even harder against her. Her sobs were muffled as he pushed her roughly against the wall, sliding her further back into the alleyway. They came to a door, and for a brief second his hand slid away from her mouth as he reached down to open it. She attempted to scream again, but it was cut short as he whipped her roughly through the doorway, shoving her to the ground.

Lydia curled into her self and fought for air as she slumped to the ground. She had slammed into the wall just inside the door, taking a metal pipe forcefully across her stomach. She coughed and retched, trying to regain herself.

She heard him before she saw him. The door had shut, and his heavy boots were thumping across the cement floor purposefully in her direction. She managed a quick look around before her yanked her up by her hair.

They were in a small room, probably the back room of some stingy bar. He had obviously known the place was here. A mop bucket sat in the corner, the water inside of it a heavy black sludge. She coughed again as he slammed her head down on what she could only imagine was a large storage freezer. The side of her face that was swollen from its previous encounter with his fist hit the surface. Hard. She gasped, tensing at the pain.

"Please…" She muttered, trying to push herself back against him. It was no use. He was nearly double her size, and had her effectively pinned, one hand holding hers behind her back and his legs on either side of her, his hips pressing heavily into her back.

"Keep beggin'…" His voice was a nasty whisper, inches from her ear. She almost retched. His breath smelled of liquor and vomit.

"I don't have anything…" She said pitifully, knowing full well that she _did_ in fact have something that he wanted.

The next thing she knew, he'd reached his free hand around her waist, and was attempting to undo her pants. At this, she began to struggle in earnest, screaming and attempt to kick and bite at him.

"No one will _**hear you**_!" He snapped. His hand clasped tightly on her shoulder and the next thing she knew she was face first on the cold floor. He had held onto her coat when he threw her, leaving her scraping herself from the floor in a now-tattered t-shirt and her pants ripped away, halfway down her thighs.

A strangled sob escaped her mouth as she felt herself being flipped over. The man was straddling her now, his hands once again squeezing her wrists tightly together. He produced a cable tie from somewhere, and she winced and let out a small shriek as he tightened it around her wrists, the plastic cutting roughly into her pale flesh. She tried once again to kick her legs at him, but it was useless. He simply allowed his weight to settle more heavily down upon her, making it difficult to breath.

"Stop.." She gasped, wringing her wrists together in a meager attempt to free her hands. Tears were now cutting through the dirt and blood on her face. "Stop."

"No one here to help you, Babes." He said evilly, tugging her pants even further down. He pressed himself down on her, and she became suddenly aware that he had somehow managed to rid himself of his pants as well. With that, she could feel him pressing against her, hard and raging, only her thin panties keeping him from his aspiration. He rocked against her, and she sobbed.

"Just you and me, Babes…" He said breathily, pulling away at the last garment. She choked, straining herself against him. She could feel _him_ now, rocking against her, tormenting her, just outside.

"Just you and me, Babes…" 

Her mind flashed back to that day in the attic of her old home. The model. The graveyard. The Poltergeist.

"_Come on, Babes."_

Her eyes snapped open, another retching sob escaping her as she felt him rubbing against her, ready to have his way. His breaths were coming in heavy gasps, and a heavy moan escaped his lips as he pressed down on her. _Into her…_

She felt as if she was leaving herself, and it was as if she was listening from afar when the words came, barely audible against the man's grunts.

"…..Betelgeuse. Be..Betelguese. Betel..geuse…."

In an instant, she was back in herself, and painfully aware of what was happening. She fought the urge to be sick. There was a loud crack, and she was positive that the already cold room had become suddenly chillier. Her glassy eyes looked up, and she strangled another sob.

"Help…" the words were naught but a silent plea on her lips, her eyes begging with the shadowed figure in the doorway. For a brief second, she thought she had imagined it, but then she saw it. The same emerald green glint she had seen in the photograph, the wicked glint in his eyes.

He was back.


	3. Destroyed

Chapter 3

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It all happened so quickly that she couldn't even register everything. All she knew was that she was suddenly alone on the floor, half naked and bloody, and painfully aware of the cold. She was shaking violently.

A sharp yelp caught her attention, and she lulled her head feebly towards the sound of the noise. She turned just in time to she the man being smashed down into the floor, only a few feet from where she was lying. He gasped as his back slammed onto the concrete. His face was covered in blood, one of his eyes so swollen that he could barely open it. The sound of footsteps caught her attention, and her eyes followed the black boots as they strode purposefully past her. Her wrists still bound, she pulled herself up slightly and clawed at her discarded coat, trying to cover herself.

"I'm not usually one to side with a breather, but you, my friend…" the poltergeist stepped over the man, one mucky boot on each side of him "are a downright bastard." He was leaning down now, his face mere inches from the man's face. His voice was nothing more that a feral snarl, and the man tried to scamper backwards, only to find himself backed against the wall."

"Please…" The man begged, staring in horror at the spectre in front of him. Lydia swallowed the lump in her throat, watching the scene unfold. If it was possible, the ghost seemed even more disheveled that the last time she had seen him. He was much thinner, for sure, and his iridescent hair was sticking out at strange angles. The striped suit was discarded, replaced instead by a tattered pair of dark jeans and an equally tattered and musty black button down shirt, and a long black coat covering the whole mess. "Pl..Please…"

"No one here to hear you scream." The poltergeist smiled, hauling the man up easily by the front of his shirt. Unceremoniously, he grabbed his hair and dragged him from the wall. The man kicked and screamed, much as Lydia had only moments before.

She felt the cold as he kicked the door open, dragging the half naked, screeching man after him. A thin trail of blood was left in their wake as he was dragged out into the icy alley. Another scream, and the sound of beaten flesh. He yelped again, and there was a sharp shriek at the sound of what she would bet was broken bone. Her stomach lurked. Another scream, followed by the sickening, crunching, wet sound of his skull slamming into the wall. Again. Again. He was silent now.

She retched, twisting painfully on her side as she vomited. She coughed, sobbing, and fell dejectedly back to the ground, rolling away from the mess. Curling into herself, she scrunched herself under her coat, choking back sobs. It was silent now. She was alone. Broken.

Destroyed.

"Lydia?"

She jumped, and then pulled herself into a tighter ball. "No…" Was all she managed, a feeble whimper. She wasn't even sure what she meant by it. A moment later she felt a hand around her wrists, and she struggled to pull them away.

"Hold still, stupid bitch." He said gruffly, cutting the cable tie away none too gently.

She quickly pulled her hands back to her, pulling her coat more tightly around herself. She flinched visibly as the harshness of his voice, her eyes refusing to meet his.

The poltergeist stood there for a moment, surveying the broken girl in front of him. There was blood; quite a bit actually, but not enough to kill her, her concluded. Her pale skin was already littered with bruises from the encounter, deep blues and purples adorning her white flesh. She may have looked pretty, even, under all the dirt and blood on her face.

So distracted was he in taking in the girl, that it took him a moment to register that she was beginning to stand. She looked retched. Her hair was soaked, matted again her face in heavy clumps from the snow, blood, and tears. She reeked of vomit, and sex. He narrowed his eyes at her, this broken girl in front of him.

"'m sorry…" She mumbled, attempting to fix her clothes.

"What?" He snapped, perhaps a little harsher than necessary.

"I'm sorry." She repeated, more loudly this time. "For calling you… I.. I didn't know what else to do…I'm sorry."

Sorry? Why the fuck was she sorry? Hell, hadn't he wanted her to say his name all those times before so he could get out? Stupid girl.

"Thanks…"

He turned. She had dragged herself to the doorway, using the wall for support.

"Where you going?" He asked flatly.

"I want to go home…" She said, weekly, sounding like nothing more than a wounded child.

For a moment he was content to watch her go, leaving him to his own tidings. She slithered around the doorway and back out into the alley, and then he could hear the strangled sounds of her vomiting once again.

"Ah, fuck." He muttered, stepping back out into the cold. The girl was huddled against the wall, sitting in the snow. Both hands we clasped over her mouth as she stared at the horrific scene in front of her. What was left of her attacker lay splattered about the alley. The snow around her was deep red with blood.

She startled when he grabbed her arm, pulling her up from the snow. She felt the heavy jacket he had been wearing being draped over her shoulders, and she looked up at him, eyes wide and terrified. "Betelgeu…"

His hand was over her mouth before she could get it out. "No less than he deserved." He said flatly. Turning her head back towards the massacre, Lydia felt her stomach give another lurch, and her knees gave out from under her.

"Where's home?"

"What?" She asked blearily. Shuddering, she became suddenly aware that she was no longer on the ground, and was in fact cradled in the arms of a dead man, his heavy coat wrapped around her broken form.

"Where. Do. You. Live." It was more of a demand than a question, really. He wasn't in the mood for her inattentiveness.

Lydia swallowed hard, trying to comprehend her current situation. She blinked back more tears. Almost silently, she managed to mumble the address of her apartment, the corners of her vision fading as her head lolled heavily. God, did her head hurt…

The sound of snow crunching under his heavy boots. She saw the body out of the corner of her eye as he stepped over it, paying no heed. Stepping out of the alley way and back into the onslaught of the winter storm, she whimpered, turning her face into his chest to shield herself from the pelting snowflakes. She felt him sigh heavily, readjusting his hold on her slightly.

She swallowed heavily, the darkness at the edges of her sight creeping inwards.

Hearing nothing but the sound of his boots crunching into the snow with each step, she slipped into merciful unconsciousness.


	4. Left her for dead

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Lydia's head was throbbing.

The girl groaned, pulling the heavy purple comforter more tightly around her body and face, blocking out the bright winter sunlight shining irritatingly through the window. She curled herself up tighter, and the sudden movement caused her to flinch in pain. _What the…_

_Oh._

The sickening feeling returned to her stomach as the night's events returned to her, and she slowly peeled the blanket from her face. She was half buried in the couch cushions, her long, mucky hair sticking maddeningly to her face in knatty clumps. Her eyes narrowed, scanning the room against the ruthless sunlight. He was no where to be seen. Whether this was good or bad, she wasn't sure.

"You're awake."

She jumped at the sound of his voice. Turning her head, she found him sitting rather awkwardly in the small bay window near the kitchenette, his knees drawn up nearly to his chest to allow himself room on the small ledge. He was staring at her now, the bright sunlight pouring in from behind him, making it difficult for her to focus on his face.

"Yeah…" She muttered, wincing as she pulled herself up. She sat there for a moment, silent, looking utterly miserable half hidden under the heavy blanket. It slipped down from her head, settling sloppily on her shoulders. "… I figured you'd be gone…" She muttered, her eyes not meeting his.

"Thought about it," He said simply, returning his gaze back out the window and unto the cityscape. "but there's still that little issue of you being able to send me back at whim."

"Oh…" her voice trailed. He was right, she supposed. Even if he had taken off, all she would have to do is say his name three times, and he'd be set back to the Netherworld. In all reality, it made more sense for him to stay here and wait for her to awaken. That way, if she did try anything, he could stop her. Not like she was in much condition to put up a fight, anyways.

"Way I see it, you owe me." He said matter-of-factly, turning back to face her. He dropped his feet back to the floor, and she noted that he was still wearing his boots. He walked around the side of the couch and stopped in front of her, his wicked green eyes focusing down on hers. "A lot."

She swallowed the lump in her throat, concentrating more than should be necessary not to break eye contact with him. He was making her nervous, uncomfortable. "Yeah, I guess. Th-thanks… for last night. I-I didn't know what else to do…"

"Not just last night." His voice was a low growl, and he crouched down in front of her, his eyes now level with hers. "There's _so_ much more."

She pulled back slightly, settling herself further into the couch. Yes, he was definitely scaring her. "'m sorry…" She found herself mumbling once more, although she wasn't entirely sure what she was apologizing for. "Just go, okay? I won't do anything. I won't say it. I promise."

"Oh, it's not that simple." He replied, smirking. He'd reached down to grab her hand, and the action made her wince. Her wrist was a deep purple, adorned with a deep gash from where she had been pulling against her bindings. "We both know how good _your_ word is."

She looked down, and for a moment she swore she saw it; the gold wedding ring he had tried to give her years before. She jerked her hand away, and concluded that he must have been playing tricks on her; there was no ring.

Standing, the poltergeist chuckled darkly to himself. "No, Babes. I'm sorry, but we're going to need something a bit more reliable than _your word_. We both know where that got me last time."

She just stared at him, taking this in. Where _had_ it gotten him, she wondered? Back to the Netherworld, yes, but what had happened when he got there? She knew that there was some sort of 'system' there, a form of government, almost. Had he been punished? He sure looked worse off than the last time she had seen him. Thinner, most definitely, paler if that was possible. While his eyes still held the same menacing emerald glow, they seemed hollow, the dark circles under them more pronounced. He also seemed much more pissed off, the wicked nasty humor completely neglected. No. He was just angry. "What do you want?" She managed, starting to think that she may have been better off had she not called him. It was quite obvious that his chivalrousness had worn off.

"Not entirely sure, yet, _love._" The last word was callous, dripping sarcasm. "I will tell you this much; I am **not** going back there. Not a chance in… well, Hell." Looking down at the girl, he noted the look of fear in her eyes, the dread of what he was going to ask of her, no; demand. "And I don't want to fucking marry you." He added.

She relaxed visibly at this, her mind obviously having gone back to years earlier. "Okay…" She managed. Well, what else could she say? She had no idea what he wanted, and she didn't have it in her to protest now. However selfish his intentions may have been, he _had_ helped her last night.

He was silent at this, not having expected her to relent so easily. Truth be told, he wasn't sure what he wanted, what he **needed** from this girl. He needed to assure that he would not be sent back to the Netherworld, but how? He'd spent the night trying to come up with a solution, but none came. "You should go take care of that. You look like shit."

For a second she sat there, having not expected this. He was staring at her now. Looking down at her arms, she took in the damage; bruised, cut, bloody. She was sure her face was no better; she could still feel the blood crusted in the corners of her mouth. Her body was sore, protesting to each and every movement, no matter how minute. "Yeah, I guess…" She said, slowly bringing herself to her feet. Giving him a nervous glance back over her shoulder, she shuffled her way to the bathroom, limping slightly on a sore ankle.

Betelgeuse glared after her, the feel of loathing settling in his stomach. For a brief instant he almost felt sorry for the girl, but it was quickly replaced with a searing hatred. He was good and fucked now, thank you very much. He should have just let the bastard kill her, as he undoubtedly would have after he had had enough of her. He could have just sat back, watched the show, and when the bastard had offed her; well, he would have been free.

Had she died after calling him; had she died before sending him back; he would have been **out.**

But no; even _he_ was not monster enough to just sit back and watch that man terrorize her. Had he simply had a gun to her head, _maybe_. But the fact that he was, well; he just wasn't that evil, ok? So he had played the white knight, as grisly as it had been. He had saved her, for all it was worth. He wasn't sure how much actually good he had done, however. The girl was pretty messed up, both physically and mentally, he was sure. She'd suffer from this for a long time coming.

Maybe he should have just let her die.

Or _he_ could kill her. Save her the undoubted misery she was sure to endure. That was a thought...

Ah, who was he kidding? He'd never been a killer. Had it been that simple, he would have just offed her himself instead of trying to marry the broad. No, he liked fear, he liked terror, but he simply did not have it in him to actually _hurt_ someone. _Well, someone who didn't deserve it._ He thought, remembering the mess he had left in the alley the night previous. _Bastard had it coming…_

Well then, back to the issue at hand; he was free, but only until that little wench found it in herself to say his name again and send him back. And he wasn't going back. Not after what they had done to him after his last encounter with Ms. Deetz.

The poltergeist shuddered.

No, he'd have to find some other way to ensure his security in this plane of existence; and he'd have to do it before Juno and the rest of the Council figured out he was missing. A few days, tops, he figured. The marriage thing _may_ have worked this time around, had he played his cards right; but Juno had been sure to write out _that_ clause in his binding after the last attempt. Not that Lydia would agree to it again, anyways, even if he had saved her sorry little ass.

"Betelgeuse?"

He was off the couch in a second, leaping over the back and jabbing an accusing finger in her face. "**Do not** fucking call me that." He snapped angrily, causing the girl to take a step back.

"S-Sorry." She stammered, eyeing him warily. "You just seemed… bothered, or something.."

He leered down at her, lowering his hand. He wasn't sure if she looked better or worse now that she had cleaned up. Her hair was an improvement, for sure, but the lack of blood and dirt on her fair skin just accentuated how badly bruised and cut up she was from the whole ordeal. "Just don't do it again, or so help me I'll…"

She flinched, and he hadn't even noticed that he'd raised his hand in threat.

"What? Oh…" He trailed off, lowering his fist. Had he not known any better, he would have thought he was looking at a scared child; her large t-shirt and baggy sweatpants hiding any of the curves that would have given any inkling at her age. "Sorry." He snapped. The word sounded strange coming from him, and she was pretty sure he hadn't meant it.

"You weren't this mean last time." She said matter-of-factly, pushing past him and limping back towards her couch. Slumping down, she glared over her shoulder at him, some of the old glint back in her eyes. "What's wrong with you?"

He snorted, as if the question was completely absurd. "What's wrong? You want to know what's _wrong_?" He was snapping at her again as he closed the distance once more. She flinched yet again, and he seemed to have a hard time restraining himself from continuing in the brutal manner. He wished she would stop doing that…

"You look… sick." She stated, giving him an appraising look as he flopped down on the other end of the couch.

"And you look like someone took a fucking baseball bat to you." He replied quickly, shutting her up. Dammit. He'd done it again. Groaning, he ran a hand through his hair, frustrated. "Look, I said I'm sorry, okay? Things just haven't been good, since I went… back."

"'m'sorry…"

"Stop saying that." He growled. "S'not gonna fix anything."

"Fine." She said simply, finding herself quickly growing familiarly annoyed with him. Obviously her politeness was lost on him.

"Look. I'm out now, that's all that matters. Not that I have all that much time, even if you don't open your trap." He said, giving her an accusing look. "Juno will turn up eventually, and they'll send me back."

"Back where?" She questioned. She had a feeling that it wasn't simply being sent back to the Netherworld that was bothering him. No, _back_ was somewhere much worse.

"Doesn't matter right now." He said simply, standing. Pacing towards the window, he continued. "We're going to find a way to keep me here, and you're going to help me. You _owe me_." He added, turning back to her.

"Yeah…" She muttered, wincing as she brought herself back to her feet.

"Where the Hell are you going?" He demanded, watching as she went to get her dirty coat from the floor, before thinking better of it and getting a different one from the closet.

"I'm getting a cab." She said simply, pulling on her boots. "I have to go to the police station, or the hospital, or something..."

"What for? I took care of it." He stated, giving her a suspicious look.

She closed her eyes, obviously thinking back to the carnage he had caused. "Yeah… but my blood's there too. If I don't report it, well, they'll come looking…" She finished, looking back up at him with dark eyes.

"Oh." He said flatly. "And how do you plan on explaining my grand and noble entrance?"

"Stranger." She said simply, walking towards the door. "Heard the commotion when you walked by, came to help. Disappeared after he took me home. They won't question it. You can see your foot prints in the snow, not to mention your finger prints must be everywhere. Not like they can trace your identity or anything…" She explained, her hand on the doorknob. He still looked suspicious. "Look, I'm not going to do anything, okay? I won't… say it. Just stay here, I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Why should I trust you?" He questioned angrily.

"You shouldn't. But I didn't have any reason to trust you last night, either…"

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_A/N; Okay, so I'm cranking this out a bit faster than expected, and I have a pretty good idea of where I'm going with it. More plot soon, I promise. Until then, how about some __**reviews?**__ Like I said, I haven't written anything in years, and constructive reviews; good or bad, would be helpful and loooooved._


	5. Bound

A/N; Okay, so I tried to make this chapter a bit lighter than the last few. I'm not too sure how I like the result, though…

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It was almost dark by the time Lydia returned home, mumbling a small thank you to the officer that had insisted on escorting her home from the hospital. She shuffled through the snow, digging through her pocket for her keys. She said a few choice curse words to herself as she climbed the three stories to her floor, and slid the key into the lock of her apartment.

Pausing for a brief moment before opening the door, she took a deep breath. Maybe the poltergeist had thought it over and decided to leave; maybe he'd taken her word that she wouldn't send him back. But wait; no. He'd said something about Juno, hadn't he; about how they'd come looking for him.

_Probably still here, then…_ She thought, pushing the door inwards. Halfway in the doorframe, she paused, glancing around the living room. "Hello?" She said quietly, pulling the key free from the lock and closing the door behind her. "Betel…" She caught herself, not only because she had almost spoken his name for the _second_ time that day, but because she had found the missing poltergeist; he was curled up on his side on her couch, his back to her.

"Beej?" She said tentatively, walking closer to the couch. He didn't stir, and she noted that when sleeping, he did not keep up the pretense of breathing. No; to her, it simply seemed as if there was a corpse lying on her couch. _A very comfortable corpse_, she thought.

"I guess even ghosts need sleep…" She said absently, gathering her discarded comforter from the floor. Reaching over his still form, she flicked off the side table light that was illuminating the room. She turned to go to her room, and paused, looking back over her shoulder. "This is ridiculous." She chastised, marching back over and throwing the blanket unceremoniously over his prone form.

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"Psst. Babes…" Betelgeuse prodded at the girl's prone form, his lanky finger digging into her shoulder. "Babes?" He questioned, little louder this time. A scowl crossed his features. Stupid girl. "Lydia." He poked harder.

"G'way…" She muttered under her breath, pulling the quilt she had dug out of her closet up and over her head.

Narrowing his eyes in annoyance, he placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her. "Lydia, wake up."

"Stop it, Beej." She snapped, rolling over so she faced away from him.

The poltergeist grumbled under his breath. Granted, she _had_ had a rather long day, not to mention she was still recuperating from what had happened. Was this sympathy he was feeling, perhaps?

_Fuck no,_ he thought bitterly, grabbing the edge of the quilt. "Last chance," he warned.

"Go back to bed." She groaned, not moving.

"Suit yourself." With that, he pulled the quilt quickly away from her. Now, his intention had been to simply uncover her and make her uncomfortable enough that she would finally relent to his pestering; instead, the girl came tumbling out of the bed towards him, nearly knocking him from his feet. He hadn't realized she'd be so wrapped up in the thing…

Lydia kicked out at him, the heel of her foot connecting soundly with one of his shins. "What the **fuck** is your problem?" She snapped, glaring up at him from where she had landed on the floor. "It's two in the morning!"

"Hey, I _tried_ being polite." He countered, leaning back on her desk as he rubbed his leg. "No need for violence."

"You threw me on the floor!" She quipped, gathering the quilt around her as she stood up and flopped back down on the bed.

"You wouldn't wake the Hell up!"

"Last time," she said, glaring. "It's two in the morning. Normal people are**sleeping** right now."

"Well I'm not normal people." He stated. She continued to glare as he sat down on the bed next to her. "I have an idea."

"What?" She replied, incredulous.

"I have an idea. On how to keep me here."

She groaned, exasperated. "There is something _really_ wrong with you, you know that?" She snapped, flopping back onto her pillows. She pulled one over her face as Betelgeuse reached over and snapped on the light next to her bed.

"_Actually_, I have." He said, using the same annoyed tone. "And at the top of my list of things that are wrong with me is the fact that I'm going to have half the Netherworld after my ass to drag me back there unless I can figure out a way to stop them."

Pulling the pillow from her face, she narrowed her eyes at him. "And this couldn't wait 'til morning?"

"It _is_ morning." He said smugly, giving her a smirk. His insolence was rewarded with a pillow to the face.

"I hate you." She said flatly, refusing to look at him as she stood and began to walk out the door.

"Glad to see you're feeling better!" He called. "…Fucking bitch." Muttering under his breath, he followed after her; a quick snap of his fingers sending the bedroom back into darkness.

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"Now what are we doing, exactly?" Lydia asked tentatively.

"Just a little spell." He answered quickly, grabbing something from the dining room table.

"The word 'exactly' entails that I want a bit more information than '_Just a spell._'" Came her snarky reply. Her eyes followed him as he made his way back across the living room, stopping when he was standing right in front of her. "And was all this really necessary?" She questioned, gesturing to the mess he had made of her living room. Her coffee table had been turned on its side and shoved against the wall, and her couch had been pushed back into the dining room area, leaving the living room floor nearly completely open. This however, did not bother her as much as the large black circle that he had scrawled in the middle of the floor. She wasn't sure what he had used to do it, but she was fairly certain it wouldn't be easy to get out of the carpet.

"Yes, it's necessary." He assured her without looking up from the small book he was holding.

"The candles too, 'cause I swear to God, if you burn my house down…" She began, gesturing to what must have been close to a hundred candles scattered hectically around the room.

"Yes, the candles too." He said through clenched teeth, closing the book and tossing it carelessly over his shoulder. Lydia jumped a bit as the book vanished suddenly in a small puff of smoke, never touching the ground. "And I already told you what we were doing."

"I know that, but you didn't _explain_ what we were doing." She snapped, crossing her arms over her chest, continuing what seemed to be her constant look of annoyance.

"Look, I already told you; you don't have to do a goddamned thing. Just stand there and just follow along." With that, he snapped his fingers, and the room plunged into darkness.

"Betel…" She caught herself, the emerald green eyes narrowing at her in warning. They were the only things she could make out in the darkness. "_Beej_…" she corrected. Her eyes were locked with his now, and he could tell she was nervous; afraid, even.

"Look, kid." He said, losing some of the bravado. "It's really not that big of a deal. We are, _however, _going to need these again…"

Another snap of his fingers, and the room was illuminated with the light of hundreds of flickering candles. Her eyes floated around the room in amazement for a moment, and then looked back to the poltergeist.

"Oh, **Hell **no!"

Betelgeuse grinned, two shiny gold wedding rings dangling from a chain in his hand.

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Lydia Deetz was not in a good mood.

It was 3:13 in the morning, and she found herself standing only feet away from none other than the infamous Betelgeuse, the poltergeist who had nearly forced her into marriage years earlier; not to mention almost killing her parents and the Maitlands. He'd terrorized her and her family, nearly drove her poor father insane; yet here she was, clad in nothing more than a pair of old sweatpants and a tanktop, staring the ghost down with icy cold eyes. She hoped he knew how much she really did hate him for this.

"I hope you know I don't like this." She grumbled, watching as he removed the larger of the two rings and slid it onto his finger.

"Come on now, _pet._" He droned sarcastically, giving her an evil smirk as he slid the second ring onto her hand. She gave it a look of utter disgust before looking back up at him. "Look, I told you, once I do this binding shit, I'll take both rings and be on my merry fucking way."

"You're sure this isn't just a trick to get me to marry you?" She asked, not inclined to trust him in the least. "We don't _have_ to use the rings, you know."

"Yes," He said sternly, dropping her hand, "We do. If this is going to work we need to use something that has tied us together in the past, or in this case, _almost_ tied us together. It's all we really have to work with, kid. Trust me, wouldn't be my first choice either, but seeing as there really isn't all that much history between us, we'll just have to wing it."

"Wing it?! You want to anchor yourself to this plane of existence using _my_ body as a hitching post and you're just going to **wing it**?!" She took a few steps forward, jabbing a finger none-too-lightly into his chest.

The poltergeist couldn't help but grin down at the girl, her eyes ablaze with both anger and reflected fire light. He grabbed her chin in his hand, lowering his face down to her level. "I know what I'm doing." He said darkly, his tone implying that he was finished explaining and ready to get on with it.

Jerking her face away from him, she uncrossed her arms and took a step back. "Fine." She was starting to wish she _hadn't_ called him. This whole predicament was making her increasingly nervous. What exactly would binding herself to the ghost entail, exactly, anyways?

"Just shut up, and give me your hands." He commanded, holding his hands out to her expectantly. Giving him one last hesitant look, she placed her small hands in his.

"This way." He said simply, turning her wrists so her palms were facing up. She flinched at the sudden movement of the bruised joints. "Sorry." He grumbled, noting the nasty look she gave him. "Now, this is prob'ly gonna feel a bit funny, but I need you to hold still, got it?" He explained, raising an eyebrow at her.

"Funny how?" she asked, starting to look a bit queasy. This was definitely not what she had signed up for…

"I don't know 'funny how', just funny, ok?" Came his exasperated reply. "Just close your eyes and concentrate on me. You don't actually have to_do_ anything."

Lydia hesitated, then reluctantly lowered her eyelids. "I swear to God, Beej…"

"Relax, Babes. I got this." He said, sounding a bit too full of himself. She felt his hands settle on top of hers, and fought the urge to pull away at the coolness of his touch.

He was silent for a moment. Two. Three.

"Beej?"

"Jesus Christ can you just shut up for five fucking minutes?!"

"God! I'm sorry!" She snapped back, squeezing her eyes shut once more.

"Fucking woman…" He grumbled, taking her hands once more.

He went silent again, and Lydia fought the urge to open her eyes and see if anything was actually going to happen. Doing as she was told, she settled with concentrating on the ghost in front of her. His hands we cool, though not truly _cold_; just not warm as they would have been if he were alive.

"_Lydia?"_

Her brown eyes snapped open. "Beej?" She asked tentatively. The ghost was no where to be seen.

"_Not there, Babes."_ Came the jovial reply.

"Where the…" She turned, narrowing her eyes in the candlelight as she scanned the room for him.

"_Dammit, woman. Hold still._"

She froze, her toes just inside of the circle he had drawn. His voice… it wasn't coming from anywhere in her small apartment; it was coming from inside her head.

"Asshole!" She screamed, stomping her foot on the ground, realization dawning on her. "If you think for one God damned second I am going to cart your sorry ass around, listening to you in my head for the rest of my life, **you're crazy**!"

"_Babes…_"

"Don't you 'Babes' me!" She interrupted, glaring about furiously. "You didn't say a damned thing about you being stuck inside my head! Get the Hell out. NOW."

"_Lydia…_"

"No. I knew I shouldn't have trusted you, you fucking pig. I want you out of my head now!" She stomped her foot again, her mind vaguely pointing out to her that she was currently having a tantrum over a voice in her head.

"_Would you just shut the Hell up for two fucking seconds?!_"

She froze, grabbing the sides of her head as the ghosts voice reverberated loudly inside her skull, causing her throbbing headache from the previous night to return.

"_Believe me, I don't want to stay in your mind anymore than you want me here."_ He stated in an aggravated tone. "_Just hold your hand back out and I'll be out in a minute…"_

She obliged, rolling her eyes as she stuck out her hand.

"_The one with the ring, dumbass."_

"Oh."

"_Yeah, 'oh'."_He mocked.

Lydia swallowed, staring down at the ring on her hand as his voice quieted. She remained like that for a moment, dead silent as the flames of the candles danced brightly about the room. Then she heard it; faintly, at first. A quite buzzing sound, like that of a low electric current. It grew steadily, the flames around her beginning to dance wildly.

"Beej…"

He didn't answer, and the next thing she knew, the candles around her began to extinguish themselves, each one flicking out one after the other. This held her attention for a moment, until she realized with every candle that flicked out, the ring on her finger began to grow warmer.

"Beej…" She repeated, her growing unease apparent in her voice. The ring was glowing red now, and she could feel the heat of it against her flesh.

"Betelgeuse, stop it!" She demanded, trying to pull the ring from her finger. It wouldn't budge. "Betelgeuse!"

"_That's two."_Came his voice, nothing more than an angry growl.

She continued to pull at the ring as it began to sear against her skin; tears were welling up in her eyes. The last of the candles faded out, and there was a loud cracking noise. The ring slid from her finger easily then, the heat dying away. Opening her eyes, she found Betelgeuse standing in front of her once more, grinning like a mad man.

In that instant, hundreds of horrible nasty curses for the poltergeist flitted through her brain. Her eyes narrowed viciously, and she was just about to present him with the most colorful of the lot, when the edges of her vision began to grow hazy, that awful blackness creeping up on her once more…

"Beej…" It came out as nothing more than a small whimper; definitely not the strict telling off she had intended for him. Swaying a bit under the weight of her own body, her knees gave.

"Fuck!"

It was the last thing she heard him say before she slipped into unconsciousness, vaguely aware that he had managed to grab her before she hit the ground, his arms hefting her weight effortlessly as she once again faded into nothingness…

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_A/N; Alright, not the most interesting of chapters; but it will end up being a major plot point! I swear, interesting things will happen in the upcoming chapters. Fair __**warning**__, it will probably get a bit darker from this point plot wise; but on the other hand, Lydia and Betelgeuse's relationship will get a bit less… hostile. Review and let me know what y'all think!_


	6. Escape Reality

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_Lydia awoke with a splitting headache._

_She was lying on her stomach, and she noted how impossibly cold her apartment had gotten. Groaning, she clutched her hands at the ground._

_Leaves?_

_Slowly, she peeled her eyes open. "Betelgeuse?" She questioned as she stood, thoroughly confused. She found herself standing in the middle of a grassy field, beneath an old oak tree. She could make out a small stone wall in the distance, a distant line of trees blotting out the rising autumn sun. Other than that… nothing. The headache forgotten, she wiped her dirty hands on her pants._

_No._

_Dress?_

"_What the…" she trailed off, holding her arms out to the side as she looked down and examined herself. She was what she could only identify as a cotton peasant dress, covered by a tattered wool petticoat. The petticoat was brown, threadbare in spots, and the dress itself was off white, but she could see small reddish brown stains along the hemline... Blood?_

"_Beej?" She called, louder this time. This was a bit too weird for her liking. Why hadn't he warned her about… this? What ever the hell it was… "Betelgeuse, this isn't funny!"_

"_Well, well. I see you received my letter, Mrs. Setten."_

_Turning quickly, she found herself face to face with a rather handsome man. He'd stepped out casually from behind the old oak, his English accent hiding behind a dashing smile. His dark, shoulder length hair was tied back loosely at the base of his neck. He closed the space between them, walking slowly while pulling dark gloves from his hands and shoving them into the pocket of his long, black coat._

"_What? Who are you?" Her eyes narrowed, suspicion rising in her gut._

"_I'm glad you came." He said casually, giving her a small smile. "You would not believe how disappointed I'd have been had you failed to show."_

"_Betelgeuse, if this is a joke…"_

"_Your husband doesn't know you're here, correct?" He asked, seemingly having not heard her._

"_Look, I don't know who you think I am, but…" Lydia began, backing away as he drew closer._

"_Ah, wonderful, Mrs. Setten. It's all for the better, I assure you…"_

"_I don't know what you're…" She began, but she was cut off as the man lunged forward, one hand grabbing her firmly around her mouth and the other pulling roughly at her wrist, drawing her up against him. Kicking, she tried to jerk away from him, but he only held her tighter. She opened her mouth to protest, and only then did she realize that he was holding a rag over her face. A muffled scream escaped her lips, and she felt herself growing faint._

_The man let out an amused chuckle, hefting the unconscious female into his arms._

_----------_

"Lydia. Lydia!" Betelgeuse was nearly sitting on top of the girl, pinning her hands above her head with one of his own. With his other, he was gripping her chin, jerking her face roughly as he tried to get her to wake.

"What are you doing?" Lydia cried, pulling against the ropes that bound her hands. She had awoken in an old, musty cellar, bound to the wall with a heavy length of rope. "I'm not Mary Setten! I'm not!" She pleaded, but they once again fell upon deaf ears.

He continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Your child, Mrs. Setten. Christopher, was his name?" The man asked amusedly, twirling a small knife between his fingers as he crouched down in front of her.

"I don't know what you're talking about…"

"Shame, what happened to him, no?" He said, his hot breath hitting her in the face. "Imagine, a small child like that murdered by his own parents…"

"What are you tal…" Lydia pulled herself away from him, hunching back into the corner of the wall.

"_Now, now. No need to defend yourself." He said sweetly, standing. She watched as he began to pace in front of her, still playing idly with the blade. "No one in that God forsaken town believes you, mind, but _I_ do. I know you and your husband are innocent…"_

"_Please…" She managed. The man had stopped pacing, and was crouching down in front of her once more._

_Smiling, the man reached into his coat, digging around for something. After a brief moment, he found what he was looking for. "They never did find his head, did they?"_

_Lydia blanched. The man was grinning madly now, a small human skull clutched tightly in his fist; that of a child, no doubt. Her stomach lurched at the smell; she could still see bits of rotting flesh and hair dotting the bone._

"_No. _I _believe your innocent…" He said darkly, allowing the skull to slip from his fingers and into the cold dirt of the floor. She watched it fall, and when she looked up the blade was right in front of her face…_

"Goddamn it, girl…" The poltergeist growled, dragging her violently from the floor. He pulled her into his lap, effectively pinning her struggling form against his chest. She was fighting against him with all she was worth, kicking and struggling to free her arms.

She screamed, blood beginning to ooze slowly from her nose.

"Lydia!" He snapped again, trying to still her. The screaming had stopped, and now she was simply crying, trying to free herself from him. Grabbing her shoulders, he spun her around, bringing her face to face with him. "Lydia!"

Her eyes snapped open, tear-filled and horrified. She was breathing heavily, and he could feel her heart racing. He froze, eyes locked with hers, waiting to see what she would do.

"Lyds?"

"Beej…" She sounded confused, her eyes struggling to focus on his.

"Yeah, Babes." He said, relaxing his hold on her a bit. "What the hell was…"

He was cut short, nearly falling backwards as she launched herself at him, burying her head in his chest. The ghost felt her sobs before he heard them, her small form shaking violently. Slightly taken aback by this, he sat there for a moment, awkward. He wasn't sure what had happened, or what was wrong with her…

Tentatively, he brought his arms around her, making a slight face. Comforting a crying girl had definitely not been in his agenda for the night. He swallowed uncomfortably, her small form still pressed against him in an attempt to shield herself from whatever horror she had just seen. Her body was warm; and between all the chokes and sobs, he could make out the sound of every breath, every heart beat. He remained still, waiting for her to relax.

After what to him seemed like an eternity, she began to calm down, her vice-like grip on his torso loosening and her cries fading into ragged hiccups. "Lyds?" He ventured, pulling back from her slightly. She shuddered, her grip tightening once more. He sighed, pulling her back against him, relenting her silent pleas…

----------

_A/N: Confusing chapter, sorry. It will be explained, along with the plot line for the story, in the next one. Probably post the next chapter tomorrow night, depending on whether or not I manage to get my paper done…_


	7. The Hunt

----------

Lydia had learned at a rather young age that coffee could act as a saving grace, and never before in her life had she believed that more than now.

She sat, silent, sipping the scalding hot liquid from a colorful mug; the bright, cheerful ceramic in direct opposition to her mood. Her disposition was foul, and her patience had been stretched thin. The past few morning had been hellish enough as is, what with waking with raging headaches, aching joints, and bruised muscles; it was an entirely different story to wake up with _all _of these, coupled with the unrelenting displeasure of finding herself cradled in the lap of the self proclaimed 'Ghost With the Most'.

She scowled. He had saved her, yes, but in all honesty she no longer felt she owed him anything. Things had most definitely gone from bad to worse since she had let him out; not only did she have to deal with the trauma she had endured only a few nights prior, but he had made things significantly more… complicated.

She wished he had just taken her word; after what he had done for her, she sincerely would not have sent him back. Well, granted that she didn't find he was doing something… wrong. Even then, what concern was it of hers? She was sure he would have found his way back out eventually, anyways. He was very manipulative.

Her eyes narrowed further as she took another long drag from her cup. Manipulative wasn't even the half of it. Setting the mug down on the dining room table, her eyes settled on the darkened skin around her ring finger. Her first order of business upon awaking had been to shower; she'd once again found herself scrubbing her own blood from her skin. She had scoured at the darkened ring of ash around her finger, expecting to find a variable burn considering the intense heat that had coursed through the ring she'd been wearing the night before.

Now, though, examining her finger, she found that the flesh had in fact _not _been burned. She could make out the distinctive shadow of where the ring had sat, but the skin was decidedly unharmed. What _had_ he done to her, anyways? His explanation had been that he was binding himself to her; entailing that as long as she was in this plane of existence, he would be safely bound here, as well. Nothing more, nothing less; he was just buying himself time until he could come up with something more… permanent.

Than what had that dream been about, then? It had seemed so… real. She shook her head. This was stupid; it was a nightmare. Whatever he had done, it had scared her; it had scared her enough that when she'd feinted, she'd had some psychotic dream that had led her to look for comfort in the form of _anyone._ The fact that it had been Betelgeuse was just... well, he'd simply been the only one there. She was pulled from her thoughts as she caught movement out of the corner of her eye.

"You're awake." The ghost said simply from the living room, bringing himself to his feet.

Lydia finished off her coffee, fixing him with a cold glare.

Betelgeuse shifted slightly under the scrutiny. "So, uh, you okay?"

"I want you out of my house. Now."

He halted, staring at her inquisitively. "What?"

"Now." She said flatly, refusing to budge from the dining room table. "I don't want to see you again. Ever."

"Look, Babes, I don't know what happened last night, but…"

"Go." She snapped, standing quickly, gesturing at the door. "You got what you wanted, go. Just leave me alone…" Her voice had trailed off, her eyes pleading.

He was silent for a moment longer than he would have liked, taking this in. Her anger was unexpected, and for some reason unbeknownst to him, it bothered him. Swallowing, he quickly regained his composure. "Suit yourself, bitch." He snapped.

Crossing her arms over her chest, she watched silently as he stormed out of her apartment, flinching as he slammed the door roughly behind him.

----------

"Thanks for all your help, Lydi. You totally just saved my ass."

"Anytime, Ty." She replied, grabbing her coat from the back of his couch. "You and Evan still on for drinks tonight?"

"Of course." He replied, giving the girl a grin as he stacked the photographs they had taken. He'd been on the verge of a deadline for his magazine, and she had come to the rescue at a moments notice to help him finish his project.

"Cool. Larry said I'm done after 7, so anytime after that is good." She said, giving him a quick hug.

"We will most definitely be there. I owe you one, girl."

"Don't worry about it." She said, giving him a small smile as she walked out the door.

----------

"Whiskey dry."

"Thanks, Babe."

Collecting the money the man had set on the counter for the drink, Lydia fought the twinge of annoyance at the sleazy nickname. It reminded her of him. It had been nearly three months since she had demanded the ghost leave her life, and thus far, he had failed to make an appearance. That was perfectly well with her, mind you. She'd been dead serious when she had said she didn't want to see him again, yet she had found herself surprised that he had been so easy to rid herself of. Then again, it wasn't like he needed her anymore; for all she knew, he had found a way to make his stay in this existence permanent by this time.

"Hey sweetheart!"

"Ty, hey.." She managed, startled from her thoughts. "Usual?" She questioned, already pulling a glass from behind the bar.

"Of course." He replied easily, taking a seat in front of the counter.

"Where's Evan?"

"Over… there." He said, pointing across the bar. The other man was seated at a small booth in the corner, on the other side of a pool table.

Lydia gave him a small wave. "What does he want?"

"Uhm… just make it two of those."

"No problem." She said, giving him a quick smile as she pulled out another glass. "I'll be over in a few."

"No rush." Ty said, picking up the two glasses and giving her a wink. "We're here all night."

Lydia spun around, pulling out two bottles and passing them to a man a bit further down the bar. "Six bucks." She said quickly, "Hey Lar?"

"Yeah sweets?" A large man walked out from the back, wiping out a glass dry. He was in his mid thirties, dressed in khakis and a dark button up shirt.

"Care if I split?" She asked, taking the money for the two drinks.

Larry cast a look across the bar, eyeing the two men she was obviously so eager to join. He smirked. "Be a good girl."

Rolling her eyes, Lydia untied her waistband and tossed it playfully at him.

----------

A shrill scream drew Lydia's eyes up from the pool table. Two women came running from the back hallway, presumably out of the restroom. Even over the loud music, their screams were distinguishable.

"Larry!" She called, readjusting her hold on the pool stick and making her way to where the girls were running from. "There's another asshole in the girl's bathroom!"

The man behind the bar groaned, reaching under the counter to grab something that looked suspiciously like a handgun. Just in case. Shoving it into the waistband under his shirt, he walked purposefully to the end of the bar and followed after the small girl.

The two women shoved past Lydia as she made it to the dark hallway. Hefting the pool cue as a weapon, ready to swing should the drunken asshole try anything. She rounded the corner, Larry on her heels.

The stick clattered to the ground at what she saw, her hands covering her mouth in shock. Larry nearly trampled into her.

"What the…"

They found themselves face-to-face with the swinging corpse of a young man. A thick rope was wrapped around his distorted neck, his glazed eyes staring through them.

"Oh my God…" Lydia managed, backing against the wall, unable to look away. Granted, she had seen a number of dead people in her short life, but they had all been… animated. This man, he couldn't have been any older than herself, barely into his twenties. He was so still... "Larry…"

"Get everyone out." The man said flatly, still staring at the body. When she didn't move, he turned his head to face her. "Now."

She pulled her eyes away, looking at him. "… yeah." With a final glance at the dead boy, she turned, moving hastily down the hallway and back out into the open.

"You have to go." She said quickly, grabbing Ty by the elbow. He and Evan both gave her a confused look.

"What's wrong?" Evan asked, sidling up beside them.

"I'll call you later. You just have to go." She said urgently, pulling at his arm. "Please." She muttered, looking around at the other patrons as she led the two to the door. It was more of a demand than a question; she could tell everyone around her was beginning to suspect something was wrong.

"Are you okay?" Ty asked, concern etched in his face as he walked out the door.

"I'll be fine." She replied, giving them both a weak excuse for a reassuring smile. "Go." With that, she turned, making her way quickly back inside. She moved quickly from person to person, calmly asking them to leave. They questioned her, and she had trouble convincing some of the more intoxicated patrons without offering up a reason for their sudden dishevel from the establishment.

She glanced at the hallway; Larry was emerging, walking purposefully towards the bar. "Larry, we should call the police… Larry?" She watched, perplexed, as the man stopped in his tracks. Swallowing, she pulled her cell phone from her pocket, neglecting her task of evacuating the facility. Punching in 911, she began to walk towards him, the line ringing in her ears. "Larry!"

She managed a small shriek of surprise as he turned, grabbing the phone quickly from her grasp and throwing it roughly against the wall.

"Larry…"

Her boss grinned, his eyes dark. Reaching into his waistband, he pulled the gun. Her eyes went wide, and pandemonium broke out as he fired a shot into the air. Sparks showered down from a shattered light, and she was jostled about as fearful patrons rushed towards the doors.

"What are you…"

"Goodbye, Lydia."

Her eyes widened in terror as he lowered the gun, the barrel pointed right between her eyes. Utter shock rooted her to the spot.

"Get. Down!"

She was pulled from her reverie as someone slammed into her, forcing her roughly to the dirty floor. A shot rang just past her head, the bullet lodging itself in the wall.

"Move." The voice snapped.

She turned, facing the person as he began to shove her towards the bar. "Betel…" Another shot cut through the air, this time barely missing her head as the poltergeist pushed her to the ground behind the counter. Momentarily distracted, she trained her eyes on him. "What the fuck are you doing here?!"

"Explain in a minute, Babes." He said absently, rifling through his pockets.

"Well, well. If it isn't Betelgeuse." The voice on the other side of the bar was jovial, a dark laugh following suit.

"What did you do to him?" Lydia demanded through clenched teeth, her mind coming to the abrupt conclusion that this was all the ghost's doing.

He pointedly ignored her, pulling a large chunk of what looked like sidewalk chalk from his coat pocket. She gave him an incredulous look, aghast. "Trust me." He said, quickly scrawling a large square on the floor.

"Tell me, old friend, whatever brings you here tonight?" Larry called casually. Something was wrong with him, with the way he spoke…

Lydia poked her eyes over the top of the bar, daring a quick look. Larry grinned at her, his eyes completely black. He leveled the gun once again.

"We're leaving." Betelgeuse snapped, pulling her back down by her arm as another bullet shattered an abandoned bear bottle on the counter. Looking down to the floor, Lydia was surprised to see a small, open trap door where he had drawn with the chalk. Without giving her time to argue, he grabbed her by her waist and forced her through it, following behind her quickly. He slammed the door after them, the sound of gunshots ringing in both their ears.

----------

"What the hell did you do?!" Lydia was furious, her eyes blazing as she stalked towards her would-be savior. Pulling her hand back, she swung at him.

He caught her wrist roughly, jerking it back down to her side. "Don't fucking start with me, girl." He warned, his eyes equally ablaze. Lydia was oblivious to the attention they were drawing, letting alone the numerous sets of eyes that were locked on them around the waiting room. "I just saved your life. _Again._" His voice was a low growl.

She pulled her hand forcefully from him. "Bullshit!" She spat, not backing down. "If it wasn't for you, none of that…

"I had **nothin'** to do with that." He said, furious.

"You two! My office, now!"

The arguing pair stopped abruptly, their eyes turning to the sound of the voice. Lydia became suddenly aware of her surroundings; they had somehow come to be in a small waiting room, all it's occupants in some state of decease.

"Juno." Betelgeuse muttered, obviously not thrilled to see her. Lydia's eyes widened at the large gash in the older woman's throat.

"Move." She snapped, motioning with a smoking cigarette for them to follow her. Betelgeuse gave Lydia a forceful push, encouraging her to follow.

----------

"Do you two have any idea what you have done?!"

Lydia slunk back into her chair, the harshness of the woman's voice catching her by surprise. Betelgeuse was seated next to her, a look of utter displeasure on his features.

"You." Juno snapped, turning her focus to Lydia.

"I-I didn't do anything." Lydia said quickly. "He showed up, and I don't know what he did to that kid. He made him hang himself… And Larry! There was something wrong with him. He must have…"

"I already told you, I didn't have anythin' to do with that!" The poltergeist snapped, glaring at her.

"I sent him for you." Juno explained, taking another long drag from her cigarette. "You really screwed things up, young lady. What were you thinking, setting him free again?" She gestured toward the ghost.

Lydia looked to Betelgeuse, who was refusing to meet her gaze. He looked absolutely livid. "I needed help. I just…"

"There's no time for excuses now." Juno interrupted, "Just know you're a complete idiot." Betelgeuse smirked at this, and Lydia looked taken aback. "And you!" This time she rounded on Betelgeuse, pointing an accusing finger. His smirk faded. "I don't know what the hell you did, but _he's_ out now, thanks to you. And whatever you did to keep us from retrieving you has prevented us from getting him back, as well!"

Lydia looked from Betelgeuse to Juno, confused. "Who? Who's out?"

Juno turned to her, her eyes furious. "_He._ There are worse things in this world than_him._" She spat, nodding towards Betelgeuse. "And you two have managed to release the worst of them all."

"Acker." Betelgeuse said, looking extremely displeased with the entire situation.

"Nathaniel Acker." Juno confirmed, smoke billowing from the wound in her neck. "After being sent back after the _last_ incident involving you, your friend here was imprisoned with him." She explained, nodding once more to the poltergeist.

"We're not friends." Lydia said quickly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Because of your stupidity," Juno continued, ignoring her. "_he_ was released. You called Betelgeuse, and Acker was freed simultaneously. And _that_ wasn't bad enough." She was looking at Betelgeuse again. "Whatever you two did, it's preventing us from bringing him back; and he wants _you_ dead."

Lydia swallowed, sliding further into her chair. "Me?"

"What was it?" Juno demanded, once again ignoring the girl and staring at the poltergeist next to her.

"A binding." Betelgeuse grumbled, tossing the chain with the two rings onto her desk.

"I figured it would be something like that." The woman said stiffly, straightening herself. "That would explain things, then."

"How do you figure?" He snapped, eyes narrowed at her.

"You really are an idiot, Betel. You and him were released as one. In binding yourself to the girl, you bound him as well." She explained. Both Betelgeuse and Lydia just stared at her. She slammed her hand on the desk. "It took us over 200 years to capture him, let alone contain him! And now thanks to your stupidity, he's out again. He's out and we can't pull him back unless the binding is broken!"

"Hey. No deal, sister." Betelgeuse snapped, grabbing the rings from the desk. "If you think I'm goin' to just let you break it and send _me_ back with him, you're off you're fuckin' rocker. I am **not** going back."

"Even you know it's not that simple. One cannot just negate a binding. It has to be forcefully _broken_." Juno said callously, looking to Lydia.

"What do you mean, broken?" Lydia asked, already dreading the answer.

"By binding himself to you, Betelgeuse assured he'd be safe in the world of the living as long as you were there; that is, until you die. _Naturally._ There is a bit of, lets say; _fine print_, however. Betelgeuse is bound to you, and that binding is reflected from you to Acker. You are the key player in this, Lydia. If Acker kills you; he breaks the binding at its source to him, and he's free. Betelgeuse, however, would loose his tie to that plane of existence, and he'd be sent back here."

At this, Betelgeuse scowled. "And I take it there's more? You guys are never short on the fine print…"

"You're finally learning." She said, leering. "Since you are the foundation of the binding; you hold a sort of…. Power. If _you_ were to kill the girl, the tie no longer reflects to Acker. He comes back, and _you_would be safe in the world of the living. If she dies of anything other than natural causes at anyone else's hands, you're back here."

Lydia's eyes were wide. "So basically, it's a race to see who can kill me first."

"I told you you were an idiot for calling him back." Juno said simply, not denying the truth in the statement. "There's one other way, though; find a way to capture Acker. You find a way to capture him and bring him back, and you're both off the hook."

Lydia and Betelgeuse exchanged looks, distrust evident in their eyes.

"Simply put, Betelgeuse, if you want to save your own ass, you have a choice." Juno said firmly, looking from him to the girl. "Save her life; or take it."

----------

_A/N; starting to explain things, but I __**really **__don't like how this chapter turned out. Blah. I have some sort of flu thing, and can't seem to focus on anything. Next chapter will be more interesting, and I'll explain Acker a bit more. Reviews?_


	8. Welcome home

_A/N: Sorry the update took so long. Life caught up with me and I got a bit sidetracked. Anyways, I'm back and going at this again. Any reviews would be appreciated!_

_------------ _

"Where are we going?" Lydia demanded, her short legs making it difficult to keep up with Betelgeuse's quick pace as she followed him down the twisting hallway. She noticed for the first time the total lack of architectural constitution of the place; the hallway was winding, the floors uneven. The walls jutted out at differentiating angles, the doors dotting them ranging in size and shape. Nothing here made sense; it was as if the structure itself defied even the most basic laws of physics. "Betelgeuse!"

Coming to an abrupt halt, he rounded on her, eyes narrowed. "Look, you heard Juno. If Acker knew where you worked, chances are he knows where you live, too. We can't go back there. Not yet, at least."

"So you're helping me, then?" She questioned, her eyes searching his.

He continued to glare at her. "Don't take it for more than it is, Babes. I might not want to kill you, but that doesn't mean I want to save you, either. I'm only lookin' out for myself, here."

"Then why not just kill me," She demanded, spiteful. "It'd make things a whole lot easier on you, wouldn't it?"

"I might be a lot of things." He snarled, taking a step closer to her. His emerald eyes flashed menacingly as he glared down at her. "I've done some pretty nasty things in my time, things you couldn't even imagine; but I ain't no killer."

"Either way," she spat, refusing to break eye contact with him. "How much good can you do, anyway? All your good for is stupid parlor tricks. With me or against me; wouldn't make much difference." She swallowed the lump in her throat. It was a lie, she knew. Even if he lacked any great power, he would be a help to her. He had a much better understanding about the situation, not to mention quite a bit of experience with being dead…

"Don't tempt me, girl." His voice was low, menacing. He expected her to back down, but to his surprise, she stood her ground. She'd obviously recouped somewhat over the previous months; no longer the jumpy, easily intimidated woman he had stumbled upon.

"Where are you taking me?" She demanded once more.

He smirked, a bit too sinisterly for her liking. "Can't go back to your world for the time being, not 'til Juno and the council find someway to keep Acker from finding you. I'm not riskin' your neck by going back there. Not tonight, anyways. He finds you, and **I'm** fucked."

"You didn't answer my question." She said flatly.

At that, he grinned and turned; continuing down the hallway.

----------

"This is all your fault, you know." Lydia spat angrily, crossing her arms over her chest.

"My fault?" Betelgeuse demanded, falling back into a ratty old recliner. "_You_ called _me_."

"Granted. But you didn't have to pull that whole 'binding' stunt. I **told** you I wouldn't send you back, but you wouldn't believe me." She countered, shifting her weight back into the cushions of the musty couch. Much to her consternation, Betelgeuse had brought her back to what he referred to as 'his place'. It was neglected, murky, and filthy as hell. It stood to reason that the place had been unoccupied for sometime; a heavy layer of dust was evident on everything, even the garbage littering the floor. Making a face, she wiped her hands on her jeans. "God, when was the last time you were here, anyways? It's disgusting." She complained. "Not that I would really expect any better from _you_."

He pulled a face at her. "I'm flattered." Came his mocking reply. "If you really care to know, I haven't been here since before I first met you."

"Because they locked you up… for what you tried to do to me." She said simply, understanding. Even she was surprised by the lack of compassion in her tone.

"That's the nice way of putting it." He grumbled, absently swinging the chain with the two rings around his finger.

"You were with him, Juno said. Acker? How come?" She questioned. He simply glared at her in response. "Come on. You can at least explain to me who this guy is. He _is_ trying to kill me."

Betelgeuse rolled his eyes, catching the rings in his hand as they circled around one last time. "Fine. But don't expect me to coddle you when you have nightmares." It was her turn to glare, and he smirked. "Nathaniel Acker was never a good man; dead or alive. Before he died he'd killed more than sixty people; and not just killed, either. I'm talking torture. He liked to play with his victims; physically, mentally. It was all fair game. Stories say that when he was kid, he watched as his father and baby sister were murdered. A friend of his father did it, making off with both Acker's mother and a substantial amount of penance. His mother had been deceitful, and apparently helped orchestrate the whole thing. They left Acker for dead, carving him up and leaving him in a crumpled mess of blood and other… pieces."

Lydia made a face, pulling her legs up under her so she was sitting cross-legged on the couch across from him.

"He was found the next morning, barely alive. They say he had the mangled body of the little girl in his arms; that they had to break his fingers to pry the corpse from his grasp. He was on death's door, and no one thought he'd make it. But, to what would come to be everyone's dismay; he did. Never spoke a word, after that, not for a number of years, anyways. Then one day the boy turned up missing. Came stumbling back into town a few weeks later, covered in blood, part of his mother's dress clutched in his fingers. The whole incidence had driven him insane; and no one knows how, but he found her. He found both his mother and his father's traitorous associate and killed them both."

"That's horrible…" Lydia said, taking it all in with interest.

"Don't go feelin' bad for the guy yet, Babes." Betelgeuse said. "Everyone knew the kid was traumatized, but no one could place the blame on him for what he had done. It was a known fact that his mother had orchestrated the whole thing, wanting to be freed from the constraints of her controlling husband and the burden of her two children. While he wasn't punished for what he'd done, they did send him away. Shipped to a growing town in northern England, where the minister of a local church had agreed to take the boy in. From that day on, it was like something inside of him had reawaken; he was talking, socializing. The act of revenge had allowed him to continue living." The ghost paused for a moment, leaning forward in the chair, "He grew up in that town, became an integral part of it, even. No one ever suspected what he was doing all those years…"

"He kept killing." Lydia ventured.

Betelgeuse nodded, a small smile playing on his lips. "Horrific murders, twisted lies. Every sin a man could commit, he took upon himself. A wolf in sheep's clothing; no one suspected a damned thing. Somehow the evidence always pointed to someone else."

"How did he die?"

At this, the ghost chuckled. "The truth?"

She swallowed, the nodded tentatively.

"I killed him."

"But you said you never…"

"No one that didn't deserve it, Babes." He said simply, pulling a cigarette from his pocket. "Don't count those."

Lydia scrunched up her nose, both owning to the fact that Betelgeuse had just admitted that he _had_ in fact killed before, and because he was nonchalantly blowing the cigarette smoke into her face. "Why'd you kill him? I mean, ok, serial killer; but it doesn't seem like you to jump in and play hero, not unless there was something in it for you."

"Touché." He said, avoiding the details. "I was still working with Juno at the time, and we'll just say it was sort of… '_in the job description'_. So I killed the bastard, right? Turns out to be a not-so-good idea. Apparently he'd made some deals with some bad spirits that we didn't know about. Well, like oh-so-many baddies, he turns up in the Netherworld with so called 'unfinished business'. Now, we all might be a bunch of freaks and the like, but even _we_ don't take to murderers. Juno and the council stuck him on some routine haunting near London, stripping him of even the most mundane powers a ghost can have. Less likely to cause trouble, that way. 200 years, I believe; that's how long he was supposed to be there. Then he could come back for review."

"Review?" She questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"To see if he could leave, go onto 'bigger and better' things." He explained, gesturing with his hands. "But, this guy's pissed that he was taken out by the dead, right? Juno had sent me after him, initially. You see, there's a lot of paperwork when someone dies, even more when someone commits suicide, and a whole hell of a lot when someone is murdered. Things get fucked up. Someone isn't supposed to die for a few decades, and then this jerk comes along and offs them. Makes the unlife hell for the civil servants. Even the _suicides_ hate murder victims, 'cause they're usually stuck doing the filing. Part of their debt for offing themselves."

"But that doesn't make sense, it's not the victim's faults." Lydia said, incredulous.

"Exactly." The ghost agreed, blowing out another long puff of smoke. "That's why Juno wanted him taken out, and I just so happened to be nominated. There's a lot of paperwork when a ghost kills a mortal, but it was easier to handle that once than keep dealing with Acker's victims."

"God, you guys are really something. You didn't stop him because _he was killing innocent people_. You stopped him because he was causing you extra paperwork!"

He shrugged. "Everyone has their own priorities, Babes."

She shook her head, disbelieving. "So then what?"

"Acker finds out what we did, and he's not too happy. Vows revenge on the Netherworld and The Land of the Living, just the same. We're not sure how he didn't, but he got out of his assignment. He got out and he got power."

"He started killing again." Lydia concluded.

"Mortals, yes; but the dead can't die." Betelgeuse explained, leaning back and flicking the cigarette butt into the middle of the floor. "He began possessing the living, exorcising the dead; wreaking havoc on our society. He was drawing attention to our world, damning mortals and the dead alike. His actions threatened to tear down the boundaries between the worlds, and even _I_ know that's a bad idea."

"Possessing, like, controlling people?"

"Some of the most horrific murderers in history." He explained. "Gilles de Rais. Thug Behram."

Lydia stared at him blankly.

"Jack the Ripper?" He tried; searching for something the girl might be familiar with.

"Oh." She said.

"And he was one of the tamer incidents." Betelgeuse explained, rolling his eyes. "Anyways, this went on for over 200 years, until the Council finally found a way to contain him. He's been under strict lockdown since then. Up until now, that is..."

"How'd they stop him last time?"

Betelgeuse sighed, defeated. "Don't know. Could have been a number of things really. They practically tried _everything_. My guess is they eventually got lucky, he slipped up, and they got him. Not that it matters. Acker isn't stupid enough to fall for the same trick twice."

A silence fell over the pair, both lost in their own thoughts regarding what they were now up against. Lydia felt sick, the realization that a being responsible for uncountable deaths now had her in his sights. "Where are you going?" She questioned. Betelgeuse had stood up, and was making his way to a door at the far end of the room.

"Unlike you, Miss Deetz, I have not spent the last two months snuggled up in a nice warm bed. I'm fucking tired, and I'm going to sleep." He said dismissively, not looking at her.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"I'd suggest the same; Juno wants to see you in the morning, anyway. Trust me, it'll drive you insane to deal with her on anything less than a full night of sleep."

"This couch is gross." She grumbled, convinced she'd seen a rather large beetle crawl down between the cushions.

"Too bad."

"Betelgeuse!"

The poltergeist groaned, hoping to himself that they wouldn't be stuck here very long; he wasn't sure how long he could stand the excessively complaining he was sure to endure.

----------

Lydia sighed heavily, staring wide-eyed around the room. The ceiling was vaulted, and like the architecture she had seen in the other buildings, nothing made sense. The walls were uneven, doors were at odd angles, the windows jutted up in thin panes that reached nearly from the floor to the ceiling. She didn't know how long she'd been sitting on the couch, all she knew was that she was utterly unable to sleep.

The sun had begun to creep up, and she was tenuously grateful that the one wall of the room faced to the east... well, at least what she presumed to be the east. Did the Netherworld sun rise in the east? Didn't quite matter, she was simply appreciative of the hazy sunlight that was making its way through the faintly colored glass. Even the feeble morning rays did wonders to illuminate the dreadfully mundane room.

Pulling her legs out from beneath her, Lydia reached down to the floor to collect her discarded boots. Brave and daring as she might be, she was _not_ about to walk about this place barefoot. Neglecting to lace them, she stood, making her way over to the window. The landscape had caught her attention as they had made their way here through the darkness the night before, but now that she was seeing it in the spectacular morning light she felt a wave of angst that she did not have her camera. For being the Land of the Dead, it sure was beautiful…

The sound of rustling stirred her from her thoughts and she turned quickly, trying to identify the source of the noise. "Betelgeuse?" She questioned tentatively, looking about the room. The noise came again, and her nose scrunched up as she watched a large black rat scamper from under a pile of trash in the corner.

"This place is disgusting…" She muttered, her eyes dancing around as she walked back to the center of the room. Yet despite its obvious faults, she found herself intrigued by the poltergeist's home. Being careful to avoid any of the discarded trash on the floor that might make unwanted noise, she began to make her way down the hallway. Most of the doors were ajar, and upon closer inspection she found that none held anything particularly interesting. More trash, empty boxes, broken furniture, _rats._ She realized that even if Betelgeuse had possessed anything of value, chances are it would have been nabbed in the number of years his home had sat abandoned.

Trailing her fingers idly along its dusty iron railing, Lydia softly ascended a winding metal staircase at the end of the hall. Pulling a face, she wiped her now sullied hands on her pants as she took in the room she had just entered. It was decidedly less disgusting than the rest of the house, but that was not to say it too wasn't littered with filth. Aside from the trash, all that sat in the huge space was a rather large piece of furniture set between two windows on the far wall. She approached it tentatively, her eyes tracing the heavy cloth that covered it. Curiosity got the better of her, and she grasped the corner of the sheet in her hand and pulled. It slid away easily and pooled itself on the floor by her feet.

Her dark brown eyes traced the intricate curves of the dark wooden vanity in front of her. She ran her fingers along the deep wood carvings, her eyes suspecting an elaborate floral design. However, she was surprised that upon closer inspection the carvings were actually revealed to be a stunning tapestry of woven spider webs and bats. A small smile played at the corner of her mouth as she ran her finger along the twisting outline of a crow perched near the top of the oval mirror. She was particularly astounded that the glass was unbroken, if only a bit dusty. Using her sleeve, she wiped off a large circle, revealing her own disheveled reflection. She made a face. While the vanity might be a twisted thing of beauty, she sure as hell was not.

"God, I need a shower…' She mumbled absently, leaning in closer at she wiped at the dark makeup smudged under her eyes. It did little to reduce the dark circles adorning them, as she had failed to sleep at all. Her hair was a downright disaster, and the only remedy she had for that was to simply pull it back in an equally disastrous pony tail.

"What are you doing?"

Lydia jumped, slamming her knee painfully into the corner of the vanity. She turned her head, glaring at the form in the doorway. "You scared me." She said flatly, rubbing at her wounded leg.

"You're snooping." Betelgeuse replied in the same flat tone, his eyes narrowed at her as her walked into the room.

"I couldn't sleep, and I was bored." She said in her defense, realizing how lame of an excuse that was to go peering around someone's house. He was close now, mere inches from her, in fact. Her eyes followed him as he reached down for the discarded sheet. "I like it." She said simply, her tone changing. She returned her gaze to the mirror. "It's pretty."

"Also illegal." He snapped, throwing the sheet back over it.

Lydia's face scrunched up in thought. "You're not allowed furniture?"

"Mirrors, you moron. We're not allowed mirrors." He snapped, taking a step back from both the fixture and the girl. He watched as she crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him. Okay, so maybe the name calling was a bit unnecessary, he thought. "We can use them to look into the Land of the Living." He explained, deciding he'd rather just clarify the subject than apologize for his uncalled for callousness.

Lydia's mind drifted back to _that_ night, when she had been looking through the pictures at Ty's, the luminescent green eyes in the mirror of the picture… Maybe she wasn't crazy. "So you can see through to the other side, through our mirrors…" She said, her mind working.

"Yep." He affirmed. "Did some recon on the Maitlands that way, before I popped in on them. Saw your angsty teenage self sulking around more than a few times, too. '_…by the time you read this, I will be dead; having plummeted off the Winter River Bridge…_" He quoted mockingly, his voice sing-song, a smile playing devilishly on his lips. "That's when I knew _you'd_ be an easy one."

"You're an asshole." She snapped, not amused. Suddenly her eyes went wide, and she quickly spun around to face him. "Wait. **Any** mirror?" She demanded.

He grinned evilly, knowing exactly where her thoughts had drifted, her brain recalling the countless times she had dressed or undressed in front of her own reflection. His grin widened. "_Any_ mirror."


End file.
